Yesterday evening, during dinner, my daughter asked me why Passover had to be over.  This of course comes the evening after a longer and more heated discussion about why we don't have the "good cereal" for breakfast; but last night my daughter was feeling Passover and didn't want that feeling to end. 

 

For many of us, if Passover didn't end after the second seder last week, it ended last Tuesday night with our pizza and pasta and sushi, and whatever other celebratory meals we all partook of to end our fasts from leaven.  What my daughter reminded me of was that Passover is only the beginning. 

 

For 49 days we are commanded to count each day from Passover until we get to the holiday of Shavuot, the day we celebrate the anniversary of receiving the Torah.  The freedom we yearn for and talk about and spend so much time on during Passover, isn't fully realized until Shavuot.  The daily count, anticipating our arrival at Mt. Sinai, is symbolic of the journey that a slave must go through in order to realize his or her freedom. 

 

The feeling my daughter felt was the feeling a week of freedom leaves one with: light, airy, full of possibilities and open to change. This is the feeling we are supposed to cling to as Passover concludes, and our journey through the desert to Sinai begins. 
 
Instead (and I am as guilty as the next), we run for the chametz (leaven).  We stuff our faces with the very substance we only a week ago spent so much time getting rid of.  We even fixate on it, imagining which chametzdic food we will eat first, and in a moment all the work and preparation that went into Passover is gone. 

 

I once heard a Rabbi explain that there are two kinds of Jews, Chametz Jews and Matzah Jews.  A Chametz Jew is a person who truly loves "hot air."  The Chametzdic Yid, as this Rabbi said, is always a slave to the lies they tell themselves, the ego that they allow to inflate like leaven in bread.  The Matzah Yid recognizes the puffed up feeling as nothing but hot air.  The Matzah Yid longs for the freedom from illusion that Passover promises.  The Matzah Jew understands that true freedom is serious and heavy and can't always taste like challah. 

 

Not during Passover, but now, in the weeks that follow as we approach Shavuot, our true selves shine through. 
 
In truth, we had pizza last night and after a few pieces my wife and I turned to one another and said "yuck," and the magic was lost.  This morning we finished our Kosher for Passover cereal, braved the complaints of our children, and reminded ourselves of the journey ahead of us to Sinai and true redemption, and the promise of freedom that Matzah-living is all about. 
 
Until Shavuot, may your Chametz by like Matzah.